


Among Mortal Women

by ClassicallyInclined



Category: Secret History - Donna Tartt
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguity, F/F, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 20:11:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20784422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClassicallyInclined/pseuds/ClassicallyInclined
Summary: Camilla Macaulay stays at Hampden and shifts the world slightly.





	Among Mortal Women

Judy is telling off a freshman for ripping down her flyers when she sees her first. 

The girl is vaporous. She's all filmy ivory silk and rumpled curls that gleam like sand and heatwaves and sun. She’s like some sort of ghostly ingénue, one who’d probably end up dead by the end of any play. 

She almost swears when the girl’s sharp eyes raze over her and the apparition's delicate charms turn harsh. There's a sort of a challenging sneer that races up that smooth face. And Judy is pissed off all for a hot second. What a bitch. And who wears all white, anyways. She’s probably in a cult.

Then that damned freshmen is hooting something at her and sprinting past the tennis courts. Judy chases after him, but she’s terribly out of shape and really needs to pick up on her running again. He gets lost somewhere. (Lucky, for him.) 

But worse, when Judy looks back over the lawn, the girl has evaporated totally.

Later, she discovers that there’s two of them. Camilla and Charles Macaulay. When she sees him for the first time he’s cheerily drinking beer with a cluster of freshman. His cheeks are heavily flushed, and his eyes are a softer shade of grey than Camilla’s. What a cheap knock off. He’s less intimidating than a friendly cocker spaniel.

It’s really not like Judy meant to do it. Slam into her, she means. And she would have totally apologized, or at least, like, gotten her a drink or something. But then Camilla in all of her icy, articulate glory is slicing through her with really unnecessary cruelty.

Things get out of hand, and Judy is throwing her beer at Camilla’s face and ruining her little antique dress with fraying lace wrapped around the bodice. It’s a waste because she wasn’t even halfway done with her drink, and that dress did look really nice in a sort of virginal way. 

But none of that really matters: not when Camilla is shrieking at her and clawing out at Judy’s face. And the boy twin is bellowing with his linen suit all crumpled around him. And then that tall boy with the geeky glasses is somehow beating up Spike Rodney. And Spike is the toughest guy that Judy knows. And at some point, before she is sick all over Camilla’s suede shoes, Judy tells them to fuck off. 

Richard’s a good guy and all, but he’s really an idiot. She tries to get him to go to parties, extends goodwill and all of that—west-coast solidarity, you know.

She likes Richard, and he’s decent enough company when he’s not brooding(i.e looking out of his window with real practiced seriousness; practically sobbing over ancient poetry; generally acting like some sort of byronic anti-hero).

Joining in with a bunch of snobs who like that sort of thing is hardly doing much for him. You have to know people. It’s what she came to college for. It’s what Richard should be doing instead of gallivanting around with jerks and pretending to be heir to an oil well or whatever it is these days.

But he doesn’t listen to her, not really. He still gets a crazy gleam in his eye whenever he learns something about anyone from the greek class. Seriously, Richard?

She gets that they’re wealthy, and well dressed, and mysterious. They are also objectively good-looking. But Judy still can't see the appeal. That one boy, Bunny or whatever he is called, is sort of a very sweaty, stereotypical boy. He’s not so uptight as the others but he’s still has that same nasty sense of superiority as the rest of them. The other boys yelled at her at that party, which was totally uncalled for. The skinny French one, or at least she thinks he’s French, would probably be more interested in Richard than her. And sure, Camilla is pretty and all, but she’s definitely out of Richard’s league. If Richard was less of an idiot, he’d be able to see it, too. But then again, now that she thinks about it, Richard would still be mooning over the whole lot of them.

Of course, things get really fucked up, and Judy knew they would. But she didn’t realize how bad. Because now Richard’s poor friend is dead, and she would say I told you so but that would be really insensitive. She’s not even sure if a couple of Kamikazes could help him at this point. 

Even doing the best she can to keep Richard from going off the rails, his new shitty friends still manage to do more damage. Richard tells her that they’re all going away: Francis to Boston, Charles to somewhere, Camilla to somewhere else. And Richard’s staying, trying to pull together a degree. And that should be the end of it. But of course it isn’t.

About a week before classes start, Judy walks into the department heads office with a proposal for her costuming budget. But the Professor is already occupied, and the little wisp of blond hair over the high back of the chair is enough of a warning. 

“Judy,” he starts genially enough. But she knows where this is going to go, gets a sort of premonition if you believe in that shit. “This is Camilla Macaulay. You might already know her.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“She was in Julian Morrow’s Greek class.”

“Hello, Judy,” Camilla says, smiling like they’re old friends, like Judy hadn’t been sick all over her shoes, like Camilla hadn’t thrown ugly looks at her from across corridors and pathways, like Camilla—who is the closest thing to an actual Greek Goddess in this day and age—would deem it a treat to speak to Judy in her hacked apart shirt and bedazzled jean shorts. 

“Hi,” Judy manages, clinging to her proposal and trying not to glance at the gauzy sort of dress that poofs around Camilla’s shoulders in a muted blush pink.

“Anyways, Professor, I just wanted to drop this off for you.”

“Actually, Judy, could you do me a favor. Could you show Camilla around.”

“Now? Um, I guess, sure. But, what for? She was already, like totally here last year and everything.”

The Professor, rubs at the edge of his frayed, green blazer and pushes his spindly wired glasses back up his hooked nose. “Yes, of course. But Camilla is interested in our Drama department.”

Judy tilts her head back and raises a skinny eyebrow. “Really?” She asks, trying not to sound too disbelieving.

Camilla looks up at her pleasantly, smiling an embarrassed sort of smile. Her teeth are white and sharp. “Thank you. You don’t mind, Judy?” 

Judy does mind, actually. But she takes the girl with her anyways and drags her around the classrooms and through the backroom of the theatre, throwing a feathered boa at the girl when she slows to tug at the sequined capes and velvet doublets hanging from one of the formidable costume racks.

“So what are you even doing back here?” Judy asks. “Richard said you were, like, running off to Massachusetts or something. He made it sound like you were all hysterical, heartbroken, hopeless.”

“Well, I’m not,” Camilla says. 

“No, but really, why? Shouldn’t you be like, I don’t know, scoping out the Literature department. That’s what Richard is doing. He says it’s the easiest transfer. Anyways, it would make the most sense. You guys are friends.”

“I’m not here for Richard,” Camilla says, eyes stormy. “I want to learn about theatre.” 

“Richard won’t see it like that.”

“Well, that’s his fault, isn’t it?” 

About a month later, Judy is too busy to worry about Richard’s tenuous acceptance of modernity and Camilla’s potential to absolutely decimate the work that Judy has put in to making sure he doesn’t die before graduation. She sends him on dates with friends who are smart enough to not say anything stupid, and she’s only sold him drugs a couple of times so far. 

He’s doing a lot better. And that's enough of a success that she doesn’t really mind when Camilla comes to talk to her about the costume that Judy’s making for her. Of course, she barely recognizes the girl when she slips into the room, so this might partially be the cause of the odd burst of friendliness Judy feels for her. 

Camilla’s hair is still short, but it’s darker now. “I’ve dyed it,” she explains, “for the role.”

It makes her skin glow. Her veins pop out in violet lines on her wrists. 

“Who are you,” Judy asks, all business while she takes Camilla’s measurements.

Camilla lets out a jaunty laugh at the question. “I would have thought you would have known already. Didn’t they tell you?”

“Uh, well they gave me a sheet. I haven’t looked at it yet. I’ve been stitching all these little glass beads over the dress for Ophelia. It’s such a pain. But the underclassman are terrible with anything more detailed than a sack.”

“They’re having me play Hamlet.”

Judy nods, “Huh, I wouldn’t have guessed it.”

“It’s because I look a bit like Asta Nielsen. You know, in that old silent film version?”

“Yeah,” Judy says. Camilla does look a bit like her with her hair all dark and sooty brown and her unnerving eyes. “So, are they, like, doing that totally wacky version that Lisa drafted?” Judy asks. 

Camilla grins.“Yes. I get to kill Claudius in the first act and seize the throne.”

Camilla doesn’t look nervous at all. She actually looks pretty excited, like a real person, not just a portrait dragged out of a gilded frame. “Nice,” Judy says.

“I think I can manage to do it justice.”

Richard invites her to one of the showings one weekend, and Judy agrees to come partially because it’s nice to see her costumes on stage but also to make sure Richard doesn’t get overwhelmed by the mere sight of Camilla. Because, honestly, he would. She looks pretty great in her costume after all. And the romantic drama of the play is probably enough to inspire another terminally unsexy decision on his part. 

Camilla is actually really good, very poised and fluent. Her lines, which another student would likely make seem inane and dull, seem to become otherworldly and compelling when she voices them. Her accent is suppressed almost entirely. Camilla, the soft-spoken, polite, if slightly icy girl on occasion, has vanished. 

She’s terrible in the best way. She so viscerally cruel when she stabs Claudius, lips tearing up into an ugly sneer while the fake blood splatters out. She laughs bitterly, laughs like she had actually just killed a man, like the blood on her hands was real. Then she monologues about how her unhappy murders will see her placed on the throne. 

Richard gets a bit queasy at some of the fake blood, and mutters under his breath half of the time to Francis, who had shown up halfway through the first act.

Judy’s not sure what happens for the rest of the play: it’s all inspired monologues about mortality, and remorse, and regret, and preemptive vengeance or something. Mostly she watches the way the black velvet vest and white linen shirt hangs on Camilla. 

After the curtains close, Richard drags her and Francis up to see Camilla, who comes out just wearing the linen shirt and tight black pants. “Hi,” she says, flushed pink with a smile racing across her face. “I’ll just be a minute. Let’s go get a drink. I have some champagne up in my room.”

It’s really weird sitting in Camilla’s room. 

Judy had never been there before, though sometimes she’d hear a record playing lowly or Camilla practicing her lines. It’s one of the rooms at the end of the hall, and while sparse, still a little bit cluttered. 

There's a teacup resting on her nightstand with a tiny dark crack running through the porcelain; books are scattered all over—the high shelf in her closet is filled with them; and a little circular rug, all faded, covers the scarred wood floors.

Francis is whispering something to Richard, and Camilla is pouring the champagne into funny, little square glasses while some old record plays a singer she doesn’t know. 

Judy vaguely feels as though she is interrupting something. But neither Francis nor Camilla are paying much attention to her, and Richard seems vaguely amused by her sitting on the edge of Camilla’s bed sipping on champagne like some sort of movie star or something. 

“Camilla,” Richard, looking rather flushed, says. “Camilla, I need to go show Francis something. You don’t mind do you?” Then, with a swoosh of Francis’s long coat, the pair of them are slipping out of the room. 

Camilla looks at the door, bemusement staining her smile. “More for us,” she says and sloshes down next to Judy. 

“You know, Camilla, you really are nicer than I thought.” Judy says this, lying on the rug and staring up at the high slanted ceiling. Camilla’s cheeks are blooming with a faint trace of color, shirt unbuttoned halfway down and lying on her bed. Her lips are really unfairly pink. 

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure. But all of last year I thought you were just, totally, totally awful.”

Camilla hums, pressing her face against her bed. Her voice comes out thick and sleepy. “What do you think of me now?” 

“I don’t know. Ask me tomorrow.”

“Look, Judy,” Richard says a few days later, while she’s trying to paint her toenails gold. “I want you to stop trying to set me up on dates.” 

A bit of the nail polish catches on her thumb, smearing it into a pulpy mess. “What?” She asks. 

“Just stop it. I’m tired of going on them. Your friends are fine, I just don’t particularly want to date them.” 

Judy raises her eyebrows at this. “Richard, I’m doing you a favor. They don’t really want to date you either. If you weren’t hanging out with Leah, or Jen or Steph, you’d be chasing after Sophie Dearbold, swearing undying, forbidden love or some bullshit.” 

He looks startled and then annoyed. “How do you know about Sophie?” 

“What?” then she looks up. “Oh, Richard, please tell me your not serious. Sophie. Really, it was a joke. She’s so broody: she’s always quoting crap about decay and reality. You can do better.”

The tips of his ears are getting pink and he reaches up to rub a hand on his temple.

“Please, just stop.”

“Fine, whatever. Can you pass me my cigarettes? I need to focus. I really fucked up this nail.” 

Camilla starts showing up at her room after each one of her shows with wine or champagne or gin and once with a whole cake. 

Judy is surprised at first. But she grows to expect it after the first few times Camilla shows up glistening with sweat, pink faced, eyes blown dark, already a little tipsy with something that makes her breath smell spicy like licorice and cinnamon and something inexplicably sweet. Judy thinks she would mind normally, but Camilla’s face is soft and relaxed. She’s so happy that it’s infectious, and it makes Judy not push her out into the hallway.

“Have a drink with me,” she pleads. 

“Oh, alright. Tell me how the show went tonight.”

Camilla’s eyes go misty and she leans forward, her hand brushes against Judy’s as she sits down next to her on Judy’s well-worn comforter. “It was lovely. They did a great job with the set this time. Your costumes were perfect. Everything was really just wonderful. I wish I had always done this.”

Camilla is looking at her like she might cry or maybe hug her. Judy isn’t sure what is worse. 

“Camilla,” she starts, “is everything alright? Is there anything I can do, anything at all?”

Camilla stares at her unblinking, like she had stumbled or done something humiliating. She’s embarrassed, almost. “No. No, everything’s fine, Judy. I think I’m still just a bit worked up from earlier.” She frowns a bit, still lovely. “All of the characters I play, they feel so intensely, and I have to show that. Those feelings follow me still.” 

“Ok,” Judy says. “Ok. Just tell me one thing. This doesn’t have anything to do with Richard, right?”

Camilla blinks, “Richard. Why do you say that?” The question feels measured, hesitant, like Camilla isn’t sure what Judy means.

“He told me a while ago he was dating someone. I didn’t believe him at first, but he got really bitchy when I pushed it. He told me he was tired of having to play along with the whole charade that I set up for him, which was totally rude. And I know he’s my friend, but you are too Camilla. If he’s done anything—” 

"Oh," Camilla says. Her eyes widen a fraction. "Oh, Richard." Then she lets out a breathy laugh. “It’s not like that, Judy. Richard’s been more of a brother to me than Charles." 

“Good.” Judy says. “That’s really good.” The words feel lodged in her throat. 

“I think,” Camilla begins, "He goes to Boston on the weekends fairly regularly to visit Francis.”

One night, after several glasses of a particularly good huckleberry wine, Judy is lying on Camilla’s bed while Camilla is reading some obscure text related to her new role. 

It looks boring, scholarly, the sort of thing an aged professor would write after a few too many years in their field—basically impractical for the novice without reliance on charts, heavy use of footnotes, and other explanatory materials.

Camilla, doesn’t look particularly enthralled by it, anyways. Her brows are pinched together and she seems to keep having to flip it back a page or two every now and then. Judy’s just surprised that she’s managed to keep parsing through it for so long. 

“Camilla,” Judy says quietly. “Why are you here?”

Camilla set the book down and looked over at her. She said nothing, quirking her lips up into something that was not quite a smile.

“Camilla.”

She reached over to the desk and picked up her glass, still mostly full. “I think you know, Judy. You’ve known for a while now.”

The sun was setting, leaving a hazy, golden glow on half of Camilla’s face. Her glass scattered the light sort of like a kaleidoscope all over the bedspread and all up the length of Judy’s arm.

“I’m not sure I do.”

Camilla just stares at her unblinking, the hint of a smile clinging to her face. She began in her steady, careful manner, “Would you be bothered if I left this room, this dormitory, Hampden? What if I told you that I was leaving right now. Would you ask me to stay?”

Judy looked at her. The light disfigured her profile, hid half of her in some oozy, artificial shadow. It made Judy nauseous.

“What if I told you that I had done something unforgivable,” Camilla said. “Would you forgive me?”

“I think,” Judy says, “I think I’d really want to.”


End file.
